


La Comédie Americane

by goldenraeofsun



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Fashion Designer Kurt, M/M, Student!Blaine, student!Kurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 21:42:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2166189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenraeofsun/pseuds/goldenraeofsun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine Anderson is lost in a foreign city in the famous Paris theater, home to the Comédie Française. Good thing he manages to find an American in the costume department that can show him around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	La Comédie Americane

Blaine Anderson was lost. 

Currently, he was standing in a nice hallway with walls decorated with century old oil paintings of old _comédiens._ The rich burgundy red carpet led down the hall and up a flight of stairs on his right. 

He'd been wandering around for too long; all the signs he could see were in French, which was no help at all, and this part of the building appeared deserted, so he couldn't ask anyone for directions. Then again, he probably wouldn’t know how to go about doing that anyway, if he was being honest. In terms of his French, 'mediocre' would be a genuine compliment.

Blaine _knew_ he should have gone to London during his free week of summer vacation - at least they speak English there. But no, he had chosen to take Sebastian up on his offer to go to Paris for the week. Admittedly, when he pictured the scene it featured him and Bas as a couple rather than Blaine all by himself in a foreign city, but a free flight was a free flight - and to Paris none the less. Plus, as a broke college student, Blaine wasn't about to turn his nose up at that, even if they were broken up. 

Heart pounding uncomfortably hard in his chest, Blaine glanced down at his watch. Goddammit, intermission had started about twenty minutes ago; the second act had definitely already started. But why didn't he hear the warning bells?

Blaine glanced about the hallway nervously as he pulled at his tie nervously. Yeah, the bathroom was probably at the other end of the building or something, he thought ruefully. Better just hold it for now. 

He didn't recognize this part of La Comédie-Française, but he knew his seat was up on the fourth balcony. Blaine didn't even think as he began climbing the flight of stairs. It was only as he emerged, huffing and puffing, onto the top landing that he realized he was just as lost as ever. He could see windows along one wall of the corridor showing the tops of several Parisian buildings, none of which he could recognize. The wall sloped to accommodate the roof, and for once Blaine was thankful for his short stature as he peered through the windows. 

Still, he couldn't stay there gawking forever. He unbuttoned his blazer and slipped it off his shoulders as he began wandering once more.

He had only taken a couple of steps further when he heard it. Music - singing, if he wasn't mistaken - coming from just ahead. Heart soaring, Blaine quickened his pace, rushing past racks of vibrant costumes and boxes marked with labels like _O.K. Mlle. du Barry_ and _O.K. M. d'Orléans._

Finally, he approached the doorway where the singing was loudest.

Evidently he was in some kind of backstage area. Mannequins lined the walls, and long spools of white thread hung from the ceiling. A couple of sewing machines were shoved along the back wall, and large square tables absolutely littered with scraps of paper and fabric took up most of the floor space. 

But Blaine only noticed that after a moment. No, what caught his attention first was the man seated in the middle of the room, his needle weaving in and out of a large swath of fabric almost in time with the music. His chestnut hair was coiffed high on his head, and his slimming grey vest and painted-on jeans betrayed his affinity for fashion. From what Blaine could see from his limited view, the man's eyes were a soft blue, and his face was absurdly pale - not that he couldn't pull it off. No, Blaine knew an absolutely gorgeous face when he saw once.

The music stopped as soon as the singer took sight of Blaine in the doorway.

 _"Que faites-vous là?"_ the man asked, raising an eyebrow as he lowered his sewing onto the table and stared at Blaine. _"Cet étage est interdit au public."_

Blaine blinked as his brain tried to catch and then translate a couple of the words. "Um," he began, trying to dredge up some bit of charm as he stepped forward. "I - uh - desolé." 

Well, that failed.

Flushing furiously, Blaine paused and shook his head as he muttered, "Sorry, I don't speak French."

The man rolled his eyes. _"Américan?"_ he asked, and Blaine could figure that one out all by himself. He nodded, and the man actually smiled. 

"I - um - lost?" Blaine explained slowly, trying to mime confusion as he waved his hands in the air about his head. To his utter mortification, the other man began to laugh. Blaine dropped his arms to his sides.

"Yeah, I assumed as much," the man said, sounding very _Américain_ himself as his giggles subsided.

Blaine felt like someone had just lifted a heavy weight off his shoulders. "You speak English?" Blaine gaped in relief.

The man snorted, but he smiled a moment later. "Do you always state the obvious?"

Blaine blushed. "Sorry, I was just freaking out for a little back there, my head still a little scrambled. I'm Blaine."

"Kurt," the man - Kurt - said after a moment. "You here to see the play?" he asked.

Blaine nodded sheepishly. "Got lost on the way back from the bathroom."

Kurt frowned. "Well, Toto, you're definitely not in Kansas anymore. How the hell did you get this lost on the way to the bathroom?" he asked himself, laughing little. He looked up at Blaine, and despite the chiding, his eyes were kind and his mouth was curved up into a small smile. 

His smile did funny things to the pit of Blaine's stomach, which he diligently ignored, or tried to ignore, at any rate.

Kurt poked at the fabric on the table. "I'm just fixing up Banquo's tunic to get it ready for the last act, but I can walk you back if you like," he offered as he picked up the needle. "That is, if you don't mind waiting for a bit." He looked up.

Blaine met his eyes as shook his head. "Not at all," he chirped as he hopped onto the seat next to Kurt's.

Blaine bit his lip as the silence between them lengthened. "So..." he began after a minute, "What are you sewing?"

Kurt's smile, which had been fading, abruptly returned. "The sleeve Emile ripped during dress rehearsal this afternoon," he explained. "Apparently no one realized anything was wrong until right before curtain call. Thankfully he doesn't wear this until the final act, so I have a little time."

Blaine hummed in non-committal agreement. “What brought you to Paris?” he asked as he desperately tried to keep the conversation going.

“Summer internship,” Kurt replied without looking up from the sleeve. “I’m a double French and fashion design major at NYU.”

Blaine stared. “You’ve got to be joking,” he gasped after a moment. “Really?”

“What?” Kurt asked, bristling. “Just because-”

“I go to NYU too!” Blaine interrupted with wide eyes. 

Clearly that wasn’t what Kurt had been expecting. His hands paused his sewing, and his gaze jumped to stare at Blaine. “Oh,” he said after a split second, flushing slightly.

Blaine blinked as he tilted his head to observe Kurt carefully. “Excuse me, you were saying something earlier,” he apologized, “and I cut you off. What were you saying?”

Kurt swallowed, silent as he spent a moment tying a rather complicated looking knot. “I just thought you were going to poke fun at the fashion major,” he said in a low voice.

Blaine snorted. “Unlikely.” He huffed out a laugh. “I’m totally into fashion.”

“Is that right?” Kurt asked slowly, eyebrows raised as his eyes raked up and down Blaine’s figure.

Blaine smiled as he could hear the veritable judgment dripping off Kurt’s every syllable. “Well,” he said bashfully, looking down to his feet, “Today’s a bit of an exception because I’m on vacation,” he explained, “but it’s true. All throughout high school I had a stack of Vogue hidden underneath my bed. You should have seen my roommate’s face when he found out it wasn’t porn.” He laughed. “Not that I know why he was snooping around my potential porn collection in the first place,” Blaine said, his heart pounding as an idea struck him. “I don’t think he’d be very into gay porn, after all,” he finished in a hurried breath.

That got Kurt’s attention. “You’re… gay?” he asked carefully, head jerking up to stare at Blaine in surprise. Blaine nodded.

“Me too,” Kurt said with a smile.

Blaine swayed slightly in his seat, feeling quite happy. Not that he had many doubts about Kurt’s sexuality, but it was quite nice to have that sort of thing confirmed before making a move. 

Which he totally intended on doing. Making a move. And not standing there like an idiot in front of one of the most attractive people he had ever had the pleasure of meeting.

Kurt held the sleeve up in front of his face and tugged experimentally at the cuff. When the fabric held together, he smiled and stood up. “If you’re ready, I can show you back to the theater,” he said.

Blaine felt his heart hammer in his chest. “You’re finished already?” he asked as he followed Kurt out the door and back down the hallway with all the labled costumes.

Kurt hummed in agreement. “And about time too,” he said as they started down the stairs. “The final act is in fifteen minutes.” He turned to Blaine. “So, what are you doing in Paris?”

“Well, I had a week of summer vacation after my internship and before NYU, and I’d never been to Paris…” he said as he drifted off. “I originally thought I’d be going with my boyfriend, but that didn’t work out.”

Kurt frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said stiffly after a moment. “Is he waiting back in the US?”

Blaine let out a dry laugh. “I wish. No, he’s here somewhere,” he said with a shrug. “I just hope I don’t run into him,” he said fervently.

Kurt pushed open a door and ushered Blaine through. “I take it you aren’t on the best of terms, then?” he asked, skirting down a small alley and gesturing Blaine through into a separate building with high vaulted ceilings and the same deep burgundy carpet. 

“We broke up about a month ago,” Blaine said. “But he had already bought the ticket for me to meet him here, so I decided to go on my own.”

Kurt smiled. “Brave of you,” he said as he stopped walking, and Blaine almost walked into him. “Well, this is your stop,” he said slowly. “Entrance to the theater is just up there, and the usher’s aren’t so snooty that they’ll stop you from entering mid-act.”

“Ah, well, thank you,” Blaine fumbled. “It was really nice of you to show me all the way over here.”

Kurt shrugged. “It was on my way, and I always do my best to help clueless Americans,” he said with a smile. He paused before speaking, “Um, well, I'm going to give Emile his costume.”

As he turned to go, Blaine inhaled a sharp breath. “Wait, Kurt,” he said loudly. “I figure if I don’t do this now, I’ll lose my chance forever,” he said sheepishly. “When you get back to New York, would you want to, um, that is, not mind, meeting up sometime? Grab a cup of coffee, uh, with me?”

Kurt smiled. “I would really like that,” he said. He met Blaine’s worried gaze and, to his surprise, started to flush slightly. “Well, actually, I’m free tonight after the show. If you don’t mind not waiting, I could show you some really great restaurantes.”

Blaine grinned. “I would love to.”

Kurt bit his lip. “Meet me outside, near the white gazebo covered in Christmas lights? You can’t miss it.”

Blaine nodded eagerly. “I’ll be there.” And then, before he could chicken out, he grabbed Kurt’s hand not holding the coat, pulled him close, and pecked him lightly on the cheek.

Kurt drew back, full on blushing. “Enjoy the show.”


End file.
